That Computes
by alynwa
Summary: Originally written for Picfic Tuesday on LJ. Napoleon is curious about Lisa Rogers' latest piece of equipment.


Napoleon and Illya stepped into Lisa Rogers' office when the door whooshed open and found her staring at a new contraption on her desk as if it were a coiled cobra. She tore her eyes away from it and greeted the agents. "Good morning, Gentlemen. Please wait here for a moment. Mr. Waverly is on the phone and will be with you shortly."

Napoleon took a seat immediately while Illya circled around to the front of her desk. "This is new," he observed casually, "What is it?"

Miss Rogers sighed, "Right now, it's the bane of my existence. Officially, it is a prototype personal computer. Mr. Waverly has charged me with testing it out for a few weeks to see how it could be best utilized by the secretarial pool."

Napoleon perked up and leaned forward. "A _computer_? That fits on a _desk?_ How is that even possible?"

Illya replied, "Research and Development has been working for years to make smaller computing machines. When I came to UNCLE, one computer took up an entire room. Now, one room can contain three computers. It makes sense that, given time, our scientists and engineers will be able to make them even smaller."

Napoleon nodded his understanding. "Makes sense," he agreed, "How do you like it so far?"

"It was just installed about fifteen minutes before you arrived. I have no idea how it's going to help me. My orientation will be this afternoon." Just then, her intercom buzzed and she answered, "Yes, Mr. Waverly? Right away, Sir." She hung up and announced, "Mr. Waverly will see you now."

Napoleon stood up and shot his cuffs. "Great," he said before going to the Old Man's door and entering with Illya right behind him.

Twenty minutes later, both men emerged. Before they left Napoleon said, "We should be back in five or six days. Let me know then what you think of it, then."

"Sure, Napoleon. Good luck to both of you."

The agents were actually gone for almost two weeks. After they gave their verbal and written reports to Mr. Waverly, they were given a week off to recuperate and relax. On the day they reported back on duty, they went to the Commissary for coffee and Napoleon said, "I'll meet you in the office in a few minutes; I'm going to see Lisa." He bought an extra coffee for her and headed to her office.

"Good morning, Lisa!" he said jauntily as he entered her office, "I brought you some coffee."

"Good morning, Napoleon!" she replied just as cheerfully, "Thanks for the coffee, I was thinking I could use another. Are you here to see Mr. Waverly?"

"No, I'm here to see you and…" He pointed at the computer. "How are you two getting along?" He was surprised to see her smile.

"I thought I wouldn't like it, but I really do! When I went to that orientation I told you about, the engineer called it a Word Processor and told me that once I got used to it, I would never want to use a typewriter again and he was right. It's great; no more carbon paper, no more having to remove the paper from the typewriter when I make a mistake and then driving myself crazy trying to line it up again so that the corrected word isn't above or below the sentence. It is wonderful and I'm recommending that the entire secretarial pool get them."

"Really," Napoleon said as he rubbed his chin. "Ah, Lisa, this really makes typing reports and letters that much easier?"

"Absolutely."

"Thanks, Lisa. I'll let you get back to work." He head back to his office deep in thought, so much so that he almost walked into a couple of people. When he entered, Illya was at his desk typing his expense report. "Partner Mine, Lisa said that word processor thing on her desk is the best thing since sliced bread. You should request one."

"No, thank you," the Russian icily replied, "There is nothing wrong with my typewriter."

Napoleon shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the ceiling. He let out a slow whistle and went to sit at his desk. "I think you are in the minority, Illya, at least I hope you are."

"What do you mean?"

"I think there could be some ways that computers and word processors might be useful to the general public in the future, especially if they continue to get smaller and they can be mass produced. That could become a lucrative business for me when I retire from UNCLE."

Illya picked up his Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee and took a sip. "I pictured you after retirement living the life of a reprobate playboy living off his inheritance until, just before you die of old age, you marry some insipid blonde twenty – two year old named Mitzi who locks you in by bearing your spawn."

"Uh huh, and _that _little tirade got you cut out of the will, Buddy. Mitzi thanks you. Seriously, I'm going to start doing some research and putting together a business plan. We only have five more years in the field, Tovarisch. Don't you think about what you'll do after the field?"

"No. I think I will surprise myself."

"I bet you'll surprise both of us."


End file.
